


Sent to Damnation *REWRITE*

by 2LIM3RZ



Series: Always Affected [3]
Category: Warhammer 40.000
Genre: F/M, Psychological Torture, Space Marine, Spitroasting, Stockholm Syndrome, Tech Priest, Time Skips, Torture, Verbal Humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-16
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-03-14 08:42:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28792623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/2LIM3RZ/pseuds/2LIM3RZ
Summary: 99-Novem expected death when she fell from the land-rig, yet her worries turn to fear when a familiar rogue Space Marine takes her instead.
Relationships: Brosidus (OC)/99-Novem (OC)/Castus (OC), Castus (OC)/99-Novem (OC)
Series: Always Affected [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1993921
Kudos: 4





	Sent to Damnation *REWRITE*

**Author's Note:**

> This is a rewrite, new and improved and 10x more angsty!

99-Novem laid upon the rugged ground with a small groan. The land-rig she had fallen off of was already dwindling away into the distance, farther and farther away. One blink and they were smaller, further. She was tired, exhausted from the three-time fall off the land-rig. She leaned up, crying out in pain as she struggled.

She needed to.. to see what the damage was. Looking back, tears stinging her eyes, she looked away with a flinch and a whine. She didn’t see too much of her other leg, but the one she did see was horribly twisted. It was just metal, yes, but for someone in the Mechanicus, it was a wretched sight.

One of her arms was alright, if not battered and clearly developing bruises, the other stung any time she even tried to move herself. Her own assumption of multiple broken bones, or at least bruised, was correct.

Especially those in her chest, every breath stung as if a hundred knives pierced her nerves. That wasn’t the worst of her problems.

 _I’m trapped. I’m- No, they’ll notice I’m gone, they’ll find a way_. Part of her didn’t believe her own thoughts as she hiccuped, flinching as she did. She couldn’t cry, the planet was clearly hot she needed the water, but yet she just couldn’t stop the tears.

Tucking her head into her good elbow, 99-Novem sobbed despite the pain. She only managed to stop when there was a loud metal thud close to her. Raising her head, she found herself not being able to even breath. A black ceramite foot was in front of her. Lifting herself up further, she trembled at the sight of her newest, biggest problem.

The rogue Astarte. The black angry helmet was horribly familiar even after one encounter. One of his proud, blank pauldrons was mangled, fresh and dried blood alike marring the black paint. On the other side from his neck to the middle of his chest was a silver scar.

_Right… right where Maximillius got him with my axe.._

99-Novem was mute as he regarded her in equal silence. Nothing interrupting except for the general ambiance of the planet and the distant roar of the land-rigs. Abruptly, he bent down, grabbing her bruised good arm and pulled. Crying out in pain, she made the mistake of yanking up her broken arm in her attempt to pull herself away.

Her teeth were gritted as she tried to double over. Her inert legs were heavy weights, as if she was already wearing shackles.

“Pluh-Please no! Please, please, don’t!” what she was begging against, she didn’t know. All he did was pick her up. All the same she knew it was for nothing good.She didn’t want to die.

She didn’t want to live either.

Her pleading sobs were ignored as he adjusted his hold so that she wasn’t just dangling painfully from one arm. Instead, she was held by her middle, not that it was any less painful. It was clearly just so that she was more conveniently carried. Pain made the world swim, pain and the nausea from it. Panic struck her but it was different from the panic she felt in that spider-hole. It was different panic than that of the ship with the cultists too.

There was clicking within his suit, and if the world were silent perhaps she would have heard him speak. That was how it went, click, pause, click, and another pause. As 99-Novem dangled here in his one armed grip, movement made her realize something. Her own movement, one of her legs. _So it’s not all lost.._ her thoughts whispered as she let herself go limp to get a better look at her other leg.

She could wiggle, kick for his wounded arm. If she got lucky, his grip would already be loose enough. If she got lucky, he’d need to let go of her for that. If she was lucky, she’d have escape!

 _But.. what then..?_ Was the main question. The land-rigs were far enough as-is and getting farther away. Even _if_ she managed to hop on one leg away from a more-or-less unwounded space marine, she’d have to worry about those wrathhounds that would surely enjoy a half-metal meal.

Her dwindling hope for escape was dashed away as a Valkyrie haphazardly landed. As the space marine walked towards it, it was as if each step was a cell’s door closing in her face. What horrors she was going to face, she didn’t know. She couldn’t will a single muscle to move.

_I’m conserving energy. I’m gonna break away, get a grip on my situation. I’ll.. find a radio or something. I’m an Enginseer I can.. the Machine Spirit or the Omnissiah won’t like it but I can.. I can do something, there’s got to be something-_

Her thoughts were a loop of motivation, when truthfully she was limp in the occasionally-swaying Astarte’s grip. Occasionally, she hacked up a glob of blood and any time she began to go specially limp from peacefully dozing into what she hoped was sleep or death, the Astarte moved or otherwise jabbed her awake.

It was a torturous trip. Tortuously monotonous. In between resisting the urge to doze off, lest she’d be shaken, her thoughts went elsewhere in other things she had to worry of. What internal injuries she more than likely had was the top of that list. The others were wondering what use the space marine had for someone like her. She was an enginseer and a drop trooper, neither of those she was good at.

The passing victory of using the laspack to detonate the boarding bridges was long gone and a bitter reminder. It only reminded her of how her bolt pistol blew up in her face once. Of all the times she panicked instead of doing something.

Unless the Astarte wanted an enginseer whose only talent was failure, he was shit out of luck.

Suddenly, a painful, clipped wheeze of a chuckle escaped her. She looked to the grey floor and the black ceramite shoes the Astarte had. Perhaps the Omnissiah abandoned her, maybe even her squad’s precious God-Emperor did the same. She was losing her hope that her squad-mates would worry over her and they sure as hell weren’t going to find her wherever she was going.

99-Novem found herself missing those drop missions. There was always a grim guarantee.; she’d fail spectacularly, go into a psyker induced panic, die horribly, or live with some wounds along the way. She liked the last option, a good meal, taking care of Good Boy, or chatting with 64-D.

She didn’t have that now. The thought began a civil war within her mind, hope and hopelessness battling fiercely. Neither side of her wanted to risk praying to the Omnissiah in case she was punished for speaking, but all the same she didn’t want to give up so quickly. In the end it was her fault, she should have seen the corpse flying at her sooner. She should have worked out more to get her strength up.

She was useless, she realized that now.

99-Novem had fallen asleep. How? She had no idea. What she did know was that she was painfully uncomfortable. Raising her head, she groaned as she tried to blink away the bright spots and move her arms and legs. As soon as she tried, pain laced through her body and she yelped.

Struck awake with the stab of pain, she noticed what had happened; what kind of position she was in. Her arms were stretched wide against shackles put into the wall.

She couldn’t move her legs at all because they were gone. Many things were gone off her person. Her goggles, hood, armor, everything except for the clothes and undergarments she wore under it all. Turning her head towards her over arm, she looked quickly away despite the reminder of how quick movements were unwise. Even under the heavy red sleeve, it was horrible to see it bent so _wrong_. She’d witnessed broken limbs in the battlefield but.. seeing it on herself was wretched.

Being the least strong-willed in the squad, no, regiment didn’t help with that. So she resolved herself to the bare cube of a room. At least, what appeared to be a sort of cube. The lights were too dark to tell, or lack of lights made it hard to tell. Was she on the planet? On _a_ planet? They couldn’t’ve have flown that fast anywhere, could they?

_Unless.. unless I was drugged.._

Suddenly the door opened. It was the space marine, dressed in his armor except for the pauldron. He loomed just in the doorway as it closed behind him and she found herself squinting in a futile attempt to look at him in the dismal lighting. Beginning to walk, 99-Novem felt herself tremble as he drew closer.

“I.. I don’t know anything!” the words exploded out of her “I’m- I’m just an enginseer! I don’t know any-a-anythh-thing and I’m not useful! I’m useless! I swear!”

Her shameful begging was put to as stop as the space marine slapped her gently with his armored hand. At least, what could be considered as gentle for a space marine. Truthfully, it didn’t break her jaw but it stung. A lot.

“Name.”

“Wh..what..?” the word startled her and he slapped her again while repeating it. She didn’t know what to expect from torture but this wasn’t it.

“Ninety...99-Nove..Novem?”

His hand was raised, but he lowered it as she spoke.

“Regiment and rank.”

“Ah.. uhm.. The..Revsheer 32nd. Enginseer.” she was terrified of his voice, a sort of melodic mixture of deep and nightmarish but light and soothing. She supposed from an Astarte that wasn’t rogue, it’d be an intimidatingly noble sound, but from the space marine before her, it was the sound that brought fear.

“Homeworld.”

“I don’t.. I don’t understand..” her voice own voice was a cracked whisper. She expected questions out of her league, stratagems and information she didn’t have. She didn’t want to tell him her homeworld either, what if the rebels targeted _that_? She couldn’t risk her brothers of the Mechanicus. Not to mention the rebels surely couldn’t hold up to the Adeptus Mechanicus’s might.

Yet they could sneak among their ranks upon the ship.. but they still couldn’t slink into the ranks of the Mechanicus! ..Right?

Her broken arm was harshly grabbed, twisted even. Arching her back with a scream, the spots of where her legs once were twitched uselessly. She ended up shocking herself further as tears stung her eyes.

“Homeworld. Make me repeat myself again or hesitate and you will regret it. If your information is wrong, the results will be the same.” his voice was a snarl as his masked face leered close to hers.

“Glay..Gluh-Glacius Condi-ditor.” her voice was stumbled with sobs as she closed her eyes, her head hanging low.

“Look at me. Name of your squad.”

“Squh.. Squad Bellatore..” she looked up with blurred vision.

“Names and ranks of your squad.”

99-Novem found herself suddenly unable to speak. She couldn’t reveal the members of her squad like that. She was weak, yes, but she could do _something_ at least!

Once more her broken arm was seized in one massive hand as the other hand engulfed her neck. The back of her head pressed against the cold wall. He didn’t completely choke her, instead applying enough pressure so that she heard her heart beating and the world swam.

Gritting her teeth, she could barely eke out a single noise. The pain in her arm was growing overwhelming along with the choking-but-not-quite sensation. She could tell on herself all she wanted, but her squad, her _friends_ , she couldn’t. They didn’t call her her name a lot, but she couldn’t deny they worked as a _team_.

Her arm was let go, seconds of relief from that was all she had before her stomach was hit. All at once, she lost her breath and nausea rose its ugly head. Twisting and writhing as she coughed and wheezed. She couldn’t hunch over like her body wanted due to being held against the wall.

It was a bad time to only have two functional (well _one_ functional) limbs. Replacing one’s body with mechanical substitutes had its drawbacks when it came to being captures and tortured, who knew.

99-Novem could only have hope that he wouldn’t find and target the decorative plates on her back. The Astarte tightened his grip until it truly was suffocating. As much as it hurt, she tried to pull both her arms, instinct forcing herself to fight. For what felt to be the millionth time, instinct and logic clashed.

She was bitter, angry even at the weakness flesh had. She wanted the pain to end.

Suddenly she was choking on more than lack of oxygen, she was choking on vomit. Letting go and stepping back, she lurched over, vomiting what little her stomach already had. The aftertaste was vile. She had no time to truly be disgusted by it when her head was slammed against something.

When she awoke, it was once more with aches and pains. Her head throbbed uncomfortably and she was shaking from being _cold_. Oh it was so cold. She wanted nothing more than to properly lay down and stretch. Nothing more than the pain to stop. In fact, the ache in her head and arm reminded her of when an ork had shot her stomach. A steady pain that rushed in and out like a wave of water.

Wiggling her fingers in her good arm, she shuddered at the prickling feeling. The silence added into her discomfort. Somehow too loud and too silent. The room was too bright, someone or the Astarte had turned up the lights apparently. The realization that the room wasn’t totally silent came in the form of the subtle ringing in her ears. Bothersome and annoying akin to a fly.

Having no way to keep track of time unsettled her, making it a surprise when the space marine returned. He had barely taken two steps in when he spoke.

“Name.”

“99-Novem.” her voice was a dry croak. She was thirsty and hungry.

“Regiment and rank.”

“Revsheer 32nd, ,Enginseer.” her throat and mouth was parched. The repetition of questions confusing her muddling senses.

“Homeworld.”

“Glacius.. Conditor.” she dreaded the question coming up. She didn’t know if she could try to lie about who her squad was, if he was right about getting information.

_If he already knows.. why is he asking me..?_

“Name of your squad.”

“I.. Squad Bellat-tore..” she wanted to look away, but she was too nervous to. She didn’t want to answer any of these.

“Names and ranks of your squad.”

99-Novem winced as she found herself hesitating. Her loyalty unrelenting thus far. Sure, Orion and Maximillius were mostly assholes, but Anders and Erik were likable. They didn’t actively scorn her or threaten to leave her on land-rig tracks for a chainaxe. Or steal the Omnission axe to fight the damn space marine in front of her. Or..

The Astarte grabbed the silver brooch that displayed the half machine, half skull insignia that marched the Mechanicus of who they were. The tiny brooch that held the shawl-like fabric to her shoulder.

“Wh..what are you-!” she raised her voice, stammering as he tore the brooch and fabric off of her. Her questioning words raised into a wordless yell as he tore her long sleeved shirt.

The cold room was even colder. She could feel herself already shaking as she was yanked forward by the force he used. Her shrieking and howling silenced by shock as she stared at his helmed face. Crouching, his hand went behind her, touching the back of her neck and going down as if searching, stopping at the first and smallest of the metal plates.

Wordless thoughts knew what his intentions were.

“No! No, no, no, no! Please! No!” Thrashing, 99-Novem’s voice raised into a panicked wail as his hand disappeared behind himself and revealed the fearsome combat knife. The same blade that cut down Junior Commissar Hector.

Was she to suffer the same fate, or worse?

Once more, despite how much she tried to pull herself away, his hand wound itself around her neck. Fingers curling as though they were serpents or the chains that bound her to the wall. The grip was secure, but loose enough to allow her to breath. Just strong enough to prevent her from moving much. She felt the frigid tip of the blade touch the skin, just where the metal plates began.

“I’ll tell you! Please- I-I- Swuh-Swear!” 99-Novem’s voice was the highest she ever felt it go and she felt the beginnings of her throat going raw. The Astarte dutifully ignored her as the knife pinched into her skin. It was uncanny how nigh-surgical it was. She wanted to fight back, but wanted to stay still in fear of getting hurt _worse_.

The plates were only surface level, decorative. Nonetheless, they were still embedded within her flesh. Her teeth bared as though she were a beast as she howled in pain when he began to peel the plate up. She had no legs to kick out with, resorting to awkwardly twisting her half-body against him.

A wretched feeling filled her when he stopped, half-legible sobs to the Omnissiah vomiting out of her mouth. The pain didn’t stop, it was the fact he had stopped peeling the plates off. Using her torn shirt, he pressed it against where the plates were to staunch the bleeding.

She went limp, hanging her head. 99-Novem had since resorted to whistling hiccups instead of properly breathing.

When she opened her eyes, she closed them once again as she saw two small, bloody trapezoids of metal on the floor. It felt.. she didn’t know how it felt, pain for certain, but it was burning. She didn’t shake because she was cold, the blood warmed her back.

“Names and ranks of your squad.” she felt her good hand curl into a fist at those words, at least for a few seconds before she was forced to let go.

“Ann..Annd..” she hesitated still, tensing at how she nearly relented so soon. She was stronger than this. She was stronger than this- The tip of the knife teased the edge of the third plate, much bigger than the previous two.

“Ander-ders! Squad-duh leader!” her voice was broken, words interrupted with a hiccup. The knife pressed further.

“Full names.”

“I don-don’t know! I-I-I don’t knn-kn-know!” she exploded into another wail as she continued to stammer, her words uncoordinated. She didn’t even know exactly what she was trying to say, just trying to give excuse for him to not peel anymore of her plates. She flinched more than she needed as the space marine stood, wiping off his blade and leaving.

When he left, her wailing babbles turned to murmurs as an average seeming man entered with a medicae kit.

99-Novem only remembered a needle. The light going fuzzy and gone. Once more she awoke to aches and stiffness. She leaned her head against her good arm, hissing at how her back hurt. The plates.. two of them peeled right out. Unlike the previous day, every small movement hurt, right down to breathing hurting worse than it had. Something pressed against her back, bandages she supposed.

Oh, if only she had her mechadendrite. If only she had Good Boy. The robust Cyber-Mastiff was a wonder.

She didn’t know how she fell asleep once again, but she woke up more groggy than ever. She sat in silence, hunger and thirst gnawing at her like predators on a corpse. The ringing in her ears was prevalent still.

Time passed, how much was unknown to her, as she thought of ways to fill the silence. She tried speaking first, murmuring quite prayers to the Omnissiah. She stopped when her praying turned into bitter seething at her situation and blaming anything for getting cursed with wicked luck. 99-Novem tried again with ditties, the basic ones some of the aspiring tech-priests made on Glacius Conditor especially.

She was humming and half-heartedly trying to amuse herself with a rowdy Revsheerin battle song that only sent her into seething about her teammates. She thought back on when they were on the other planet when none of the squad except for Anders came to help her in that brawl. Even then, Anders didn’t even answer her call to arms, he just showed up, Maximillius too but he didn’t do anything but shove them down. _She_ did most of the work.

The hunger was what she kept returning to, it made her feel nauseous. A different ache and sensation that made her irritable and more tired than ever.

Distracting herself from this, she moved her good hand experimentally. Bending her thumb against her palm, sudden, unexpected hope blossomed upon seeing how much wiggle-room she got. Hope that was partially ruined by glimpsing how raw her skin was becoming from the chafing.

Despite the sting she felt as she rotated her hand this way and that in the cuff, she couldn’t stop the smile. Sure, if she got out of this one cuff, what then was the question, but she had _hope_. A different hope from that in the wastelands of Ignus Mundus. A plan could be made later once she drug herself into safety.

Just as she was figuring out how far she could wedge her hand into the shackle, the door opened. Startling, she looked up as the Astarte entered. Dread filled her, but she felt a whisper of relief to the end of her boredom. In one large hand, he held a small tin box that clearly had no lid. However, from her position, she couldn’t see into it.

Any other feelings she had were gone as the trepidation and growing terror took its place.

Crouching before her, he sat down the box. Despite the tenderness to the wounds on her upper back and neck, she leaned as far back as she could. She tensed as he slowly, possibly knowing she’d be terrified, brought out nutrient bars and water.

Confusion wracked 99-Novem as she stared at the water and food. So close and yet so far. Her stomach growled.

99-Novem looked up when he moved, his armored hands moving to his helmet. She couldn’t help but stare as he took it off, setting it to the side. She supposed his face was average looking.. supposed since his broad face would have been completely average if it wasn’t so.. large. What stood out the most were his eyes, a stern but surprisingly bright brown.

“99-Novem.” her name tumbled out of her when he looked down at the box. At once, his head snapped up, his eyes narrowed. In that instant, she knew how prey must felt in the face of a predator and she looked away in turn. Somehow, the atmosphere felt different. Terrifying and filled with fear and anticipation of the worst, but _different_. Maybe it was just her hungry and thirsty mind wanting those nutrition bars.

“Homeworld.” without the filtering of the inner vox system in his suit, she felt the more nuanced tones in his voice. The deep rumble within. In a way, she felt its power.

“Revsheer- Wuh-wait- uhm.. Glacius Conditor.” she was so distracted with the face reveal and the food that the switched up questions caught her off guard. His face grew smug as he took the water and opened it. Raising it to his lips, he took a small drink from it.

The entire time, she watched, starving for that drink. Feeling shameful how she went from pressed against the wall to leaning as much as she could without too much pain to herself.

“Regiment.”

“Revsheer 32nd, En-” she stopped herself. She’d gotten too used to saying her regiment _and_ rank in just two days or.. if it was two days. More could have easily passed without her knowledge.

It was if his face grew even _more_ smug as he broke the corner off the nutrient bar and ate it. Her stomach rumbled forlornly, upset it wasn’t her being fed. It dawned on her that _this_ was the torture. Instead of pain where she was reduced to nonsensical babbling, it was food. Food she wanted and needed.

“Squad leader.”

“Anders.” she opened and closed her good hand. She didn’t feel like trying to shuffle awkwardly. Just mentioning his name felt like the start of betrayal. Those thoughts were dashed away as he raised the water bottle to her. 99-Novem felt as though she would cry as she got a drink and would have took the entire bottle of he hadn’t quickly moved it away.

“Rank.”

“Enginseer.” she was fed a morsel of the nutrient bar. Something that tasted so disgustingly plain was a festival of flavor.

“The Psyker.”

“..Maximillius.” she hesitated at first, feeling bad for telling him of the names of her squad. Yet.. she didn’t feel too bad about the psyker. All the same, she didn’t like how bitter she sounded when she spoke. Mainly because she feared sounding angry towards the Astarte.

He was raising another broken piece of the nutrient bar and before it got to her mouth, she found herself speaking further.

“He.. wears that cape you.. you know? B-But his eye shoots lasers, n-not that he hits what he’s aiming for a lot..” her voice grew quieter as she spoke. Maybe he’d reward the extra information, something she discovered herself wishing for.

He gave her the nutrient piece along with a drink of water.

“The rest of your squad.”

99-Novem couldn’t help the sigh she breathed as she nodded as slowly as she could.

“R..right… There’s, well there’s Erik, Anders’s right hand m-man. And ah.. Orion, heavy weapons. That’s it..” no food or water answered her.

“You’re missing the man with the flamer.”

Confusion warped her face as she stared at him. The man with the flamer.. why was that so familiar yet not? Looking away, stunned that he did nothing yet, it dawned on her.

“The bastard that killed Good Boy..” her whispered voice cracked as she looked up at him “I-I don’t know anything about.. him.. other than his name was Nescio, I th..think so anyways. B-but he called himself Blaze.”

_Good Boy.._

Her thoughts didn’t linger as the Astarte offered the nutrient bar to her wordlessly. Her initial humiliation about being fed had mostly dissipated by that time, and after the nutrient bar was gone, he let her have the water. She felt her stomach drop, anxiety snaking a wave of nausea as he replaced his helmet and left.

Being alone, she had time to think of her precious Cyber-Mastiff. The cybernetic canine she had trained with and for most of her life. Despite being mostly machine, he had a personality, _emotion_ . 99-K98373-B was her loyal companion. When she was upset, he cheered her. When she was in danger, he protected her. Good Boy was _family._

_Was.._

Time passed and the Astarte’s visits were more frequent. He did not harm her, but taunted her with food and water any time she got a question mixed up or hesitated. The questions were the same, though varied in wording and timing.

Once, he told her she had a chance for freedom. When was unknown, but _freedom_ nonetheless. Freedom meant a lot of things, perhaps freedom from her misery with death, but she had that grain of hope that grew into a fire.

After that, he stopped visiting. She was alone in the hours of silence. The tinder that the match of hope set aflame was dwindling to ash with each time she fell asleep and awoke to the same uncomfortable post. It would have been easy to say time passed in a blur, but it didn’t. It was a sludge of nothingness. Worst was the ache inside she discovered, not from her bruised bones, but from her feelings. She missed him, missed the repeated questions.

“I don’t!” she hastily whispered to herself furiously “I.. I miss the company. That’s.. that’s all there is.. to it.. “

She spoke allowed, despite having no other reason than to dispel the silence. She closed her eyes tightly.

 _I don’t miss him. I don’t. I miss the talking. The sound of someone_ living _in the same room as me._

99-Novem forced herself to twist her thoughts away from the mere idea that she missed his company. Instead, she turned it over to her squad, something she thought of a lot more than she guessed she would.

She had long lost the hope and good favor she used to associate with them. All she felt was bitterness and anger. Her good hand twisted into a fist, and the stabbing pain from her broken arm told her that she was doing the closest she could to it with her other limb.

Time crept by at a pace lost to her. Hunger and thirst arising to become a familiar demon as she stared at that door. She wasn’t tired enough to talk, hanging onto that promise of possible freedom. If she somehow made it back to the Revsheer 32 nd , she was leaving the squad and returning to her Mechanicus brothers and sisters.

She knew she spoke into the unwavering silence, but they were simply her thoughts. No longer having the care to keep herself quiet in case there was something recording her words. No longer bothering with trying to see how much she could wiggle her hand loose.

99-Novem found herself disturbed and appalled at the joy she felt when the Astarte returned. A smile upon her face as she watched him. Yet her sudden joy faded quickly as he approached her, door slamming shut as it always did. This time, there were no words exchanged from him and she dared not to interrupt the silence as she was fed and given water.

She could only assume he visited her once a day. Each visit just slightly longer than the last. Each visit in that damned silence. Until, that is, one day he broke it. She could almost hear the glass of the atmosphere he created shattering behind the constant ringing she had in her head.

“As an Enginseer, could you repair power armor?”

The question startled her as she blinked owlishly up at him.

“I-I’m sorry,” she started, realizing she took too long to respond “I.. don’t know, probably? I’m- I’m a useless-” she stopped herself.

‘ _Maybe if you are half as useful as you seem, you might get let loose._ ’ This must be it. This must be her chance of freedom.

“I don’t.. know if I’d be good at it, but I can try.” she attempted to salvage what she possibly ruined “I know general mechanicus and rituals for them.. I.. I was just a drop trooper, I maintained our equipment.”

He nodded slowly and this time she refused to let her hope dwindle. There was still a chance. Sure, Enginseers weren’t.. seen in the highest regard among the Mechancus, outsiders.. outsiders didn’t know that. Yes he was a space marine but.. there was a chance he hopefully didn’t know that even after all this time. A tech priest was just another tech priest, after all.

“What of improving equipment?”

“Im...proving? It.. I.. “ she faltered now, it went against what she knew, what she was taught.

Was she much better, though? She had ideas with those mortar shells, after all. Ideas that would easily get her called heretical. 99-Novem couldn’t help as her eyes darted from the Astarte, to the wall. To anywhere and everywhere. The possibility of freedom taunted her more than he ever did with food and harming her.

“I.. could. It.. depends on what of course, and I’d.. probably need to experiment with something else to make sure it works but.. I could..”

“Good.” was his final word as he left.

It was cryptic, that was for certain as she waited. What she assumed was the next day soon arrived as the Astarte entered. She was caught off-guard by his clothes. He wasn’t wearing armor, but a black one piece tunic. Something about it sent fear into her. She was so used to that black and silver armor.

Maybe it was because she could see the rigid muscles that could so easily end her right then and there. The muscles that carried her as if she weighed like nothing. Muscles that choked and held her so that she couldn’t move. Muscles that could wield a blade that sliced men in two. She found her breath growing heavier as he drew closer, looming over her.

“You will repair my armor.” Was it a statement or a question? Her mind was muddled with panic and confusion. She grew too relaxed in his presence, _somehow_.

“Y..yes I will.” she was promising something she knew she possibly couldn’t uphold.

“You _will_ make it better.”

She nodded.

“Words, use them.” his sudden demand startled her as he seemed to step closer than he already was.

“I will.” her voice shook, wanting to know what he meant.

Silence filled the room, but it wasn’t easy or semi-awkward like it had been. It was the silence before the storm. Oddly, she was reminded of when she was in the ship when the two rebel men were running towards them, falsely proclaiming there were enemies after them.

Now she was waiting for the metaphorical moment when Good Boy discovered the corpses that revealed their identity.

He crouched low and grabbed her waist, pulling her up so the chains on the cuffs went slack. Pain coursed through her arm upon being moved and she couldn’t hold back the shriek. Of course the Astarte didn’t pause as his hands moved, one supporting her lower back as his other touched the spot where the plating he peeled off was still sensitive and scabbed over.

She was already trembling, refusing to open her eyes. Her good hand was drawn into a fist. One question cycled on repeat in her mind; what was he doing? Her own confusion peaked at the sound of rustling fabric, at least until she felt fingers against her waist and the remaining clothing she had upon it.

99-Novem’s eyes opened of their own accord as she stared up at him. Her voice stolen as he tore the fabric away. He wasn’t looking to her, but _at_ her, as if she was some object. She felt her mouth quivering, her eyes watering.

She was paralyzed when he moved into her. Yet all the same she felt the burn, the pain at the intrusion. The tears that hesitated in her eyes flowed freely when he rutted into her.

Her head and body rocked back and forth, limp as she was manhandled by the Astarte. Yet something within her mind snapped back into gear when the grip on her hip tightened. Something within remembered how she began to wedge her hand in the cuff so long ago and she pulled down her hand, putting her thumb in front of her palm the most she could as she screamed.

“No! No, no, no!” her horrified howl turned to words. Faintly, she heard a pop, felt her thumb go numb. The space marine only grunted, looking at her with annoyance as she feverishly clawed his face. His nose flared with his breathing as the hand supporting her upper back grabbed her flailing arm.

She was not a small woman by any means, previously being 2.10 meters with legs, she was nearly as tall as the space marine was. However that just didn’t mean her smaller human body was built to handle the force, the bare boned truth of how _massive_ he was.

Her mouth was parted as out of her throat emerged a hitched moan. Somehow, that was the worst part, her body being the truest traitor. She felt the pleasure, felt her body trying its best to lubricate itself and make the act easier. How she tensed and tried to instinctively wrap her legs around him despite not having anymore legs.

Or arms, her arms were ruined. Her broken arm was ruined from no treatment, her other hand would get the same treatment, or lack of.

Every sob was a pained whine or breathless groan. She wanted to close her eyes, but couldn’t as she stared at what little of the ceiling she could see that wasn’t obscured by the Astarte. His gripped tightened, his face twitching as low groan reverberated through him. 99-Novem seized up when he did, vision blurred. Her own hands and body trembling.

The space marine only paused a moment as he arched his back to press his face into the crook of her neck. His breath overbearingly hot on her bared skin.

“Castus.” he spoke into her ear before pulling away.

“Nnnghh..” 99-Novem closed her eyes finally, grimacing. It hurt and the wetness felt uncomfortable, as though she were a machine with an oil leak.

She slouched against the wall, breaking into sobs as the space marine.. no, _Castus_ , adjusted his clothing. She had no such securities, not anymore. His footsteps were still heavy, but noticeably quieter out of armor. He hadn’t left the room because the door hadn’t opened and closed. Soon his footsteps grew louder and closer.

99-Novem looked up, her voice warbling as she wept. In one hand was his knife. So this was her freedom, his promise. Horrible torture, who knew how many days of her life _gone_ because of him.

“Pluh.. please d-d-d-don’t.. I-I won’t-t fight ba-ack!” her chest heaved as she spoke, the pain in her broken arm a now constant throbbing stab with how much weight she put on it. She raised her newly freed arm in front of her in a surrendering gesture.

“I swuh-swear! I won’t!”

99-Novem knew not to beg to Castus. Every time he ignored her. Every time he never responded with mercy. In fact, she began to swore in her mind he did the opposite every time.

Castus placed the knife into his other hand as he took a hold of her arm and held it out.

Somehow, contrary to the realization she had earlier, this one was more visceral, more slow to come forth as he placed the massive blade just past her shoulder. Just as slowly and more deliberately, he looked at her, into her eyes.

She wasn’t an object anymore, and somehow that was worse.

99-Novem found herself screaming at him, trying to implore _some_ form of relief from the fate she was to be had. Yet she found her voice rising, head slamming back into the wall as her lips peeled back into a primal screech of pain. Her vision flickered, blanking and returning. She could feel her screams, her trashing as the blade bit threw flesh and bone.

She found herself disappearing. Gone. She faded back in, once, maybe twice, but it was a blur..

When she awoke, she was stiff, muscles aching and yet she.. she wasn’t quite comfortable, but wasn’t too.. uncomfortable. She realized it was because she was laying on a mattress, something heavy upon her shoulders. Groaning, she sat up, shuddering.

_Where am I.. what’s on my arms?_

They didn’t feel like the shackles, and she shuddered at the headache she had. How her shoulders and legs ached something fierce as she touched her forehead, confusion peaking at the cool metal touching it instead.

Cool.. metal.. when she touched her forehead..

99-Novem’s eyes opened wide as she beheld the finely craft mechanical arms she then had. She threw back the thin blanket on top of her to stare at her legs. Legs.. arms..

_You might get let loose.._

She turned her vision from her newfound limbs to the wall across from her. Let loose.. her flesh and bone were gone, the metal shackles with them. The chafing and constant ache from the bruises and breaks.

Oddly, she found herself.. thankful.

The door clicked and opened, and she looked at it as someone stepped through, face drawn to a data-slate. Looking up, he did a double-take at her.

“You’re awake.” his voice was stoic and plain. She tried to speak but an awkward croak emerged.

“Stay right there.” he responded, leaving as the door closed with a click.

She would.. mostly. 99-Novem drew her legs up to her, new fingers tracing the metal. Feeling, proper feeling. No more pain other than her sensitive shoulders getting used to bearing the new weight and sensations of the implants. Her legs would catch up quick enough since they already _were_ cybernetic. Turning her body, she winced as her feet settled on the ground.

Rotating each foot slowly, then her knees, she did the same with her hands. Bending each finger individually and rotating the wrists, elbows, and shoulder. The door opened just as a giggle bubbled out of her.

“Enjoying the new lease on life?” a smug voice spoke and she looked up.

Two men were in the room, door closing behind them. One towered over the other, but she focused on the smaller man due to his outfit. Specifically the ornate I that connected his furred cloak.

 _An Inquisitor…_ fear struck her at first before she looked up at the other man _And yet.. Castus is right there… which.. which means he’s.._

The conceited man rolled his eyes as he stepped closer to her.

“Castus, I thought you said she was a talker. Tech-priest, get up.”

She didn’t bother with trying to correct him as she stood. Her movements slow, awkward even, and when she was properly up, she swayed. There was a certain process to adjusting to new implants. Rituals and prayers of course, but also methods to adjust to sudden and extreme changes, like the removal of both legs like she had years ago.

“She is, when she has the right motivation.”

99-Novem looked at Castus. She wouldn’t.. call it that. Well, by the definition of motivation she supposed he was right in a way. She was slouched over, still getting used to her new arms.

“Well, tech-priest, Castus has told me you’re going to make his armor better, did I hear that right or did I invest in good arms and legs for a sack of grox-shit?” His words and the pompous way he spoke them struck her.

“Um.. I- Y-yes?” her voice was a dry croak.

“Good. Welcome to my team, I’m Inquisitor Brosidus.”

Brosidus, she decided, was egotistical and a brute. Though in a different manner to Castus. Castus was silent, calculating, and while Brosidus was too (in his own way), he was more direct and smug about everything, permanently having the air of ‘I’m better than you’. She didn’t doubt it either, except for mechanical related topics.

99-Novem was working on Castus’s armor, the largest and most central assignment she had. In between whatever Castus did, he returned to watch her. A looming statue, as if he was making sure she wouldn’t sabotage him.

Not that she would. She liked living too much.

Even still, her thoughts would drift occasionally because of how he lurked behind her. An ominous sentry. She knew the reasons she felt trepidation, reasons she reflected on more than she wished she did. 99-Novem couldn’t hate him, she had more reasons to more-or-less thank him.

She was out of the shackles, for one, and wasn’t in constant pain like before. She had.. some.. more respect than she used to.

Well, if she counted the fact that she was acknowledged more by her _name_ than she was just by ‘tech-priest. She was _appreciated_. Only for being useful, but that’s all that mattered in the end. Being a cog in the machine.

99-Novem was just raising an object to the light, narrowing her eyes as she took it in, trying to figure out what to do with it when a heavy hand pressed against her shoulder.

Tensing, she looked up at Castus. She already felt her heart beginning to thud in her chest.

“Put that down.” he spoke. He never seemed to waste more words than was needed. He was an Astarte, he had no need for frivolty. Turning away, 99-Novem gently sat down the piece and couldn’t help but tense as her shirt was moved.

She didn’t refute her teachings, but neither did she wear the same robes as she used to, only keeping her shawl and hood. Nor did she try asking for new Mechanicus robes…

His large hands didn’t rip at the fabric like he did when she was shackled and chained, but he kneaded at the flesh on her hips.

Swallowing, she took a deep breath and pressed her back against his chest, she was just tall enough to feel the bottom half of his face against the talk half of hers. His breath was warm against her ear as the tips of his hand edged towards her front, yet his overall body was hot as she pushed herself against him. She couldn’t help but stair at the wall.

His teeth grazed her ear as her breath hitched. She found her hands fumbling with her belt, unbuckling and undoing her pants. Now, she wasn’t too much in the mood for it, she had work to do, but she couldn’t deny Castus’s requests.

She learned the hard way for that.

Castus’s hand grabbed her wrist, that was all he needed to do for her to stop. As though he pressed a button. A machine that’s all she was. That’s all the human body was. The thoughts comforted her more than his touch did. She felt his head move, knew it was turning and before she knew it, they were moving.

He pressed his hand against her and she was over a more empty table, her shirt and shawl off, arm bent behind her until was uncomfortable due to her shoulder. 99-Novem’s free hand reached out and gripped the edge, she hated herself for shaking at the sound of fabric rustling.

_Fabric rustling and her voice disappearing.._

It wouldn’t disappear this time like it did then, she reminded herself. She was tense and dreading, yes, but her body was more reciprocating for him than it was previously.

 _More reasons to thank him, I’m appreciated here_. She forced her thoughts to whisper, ignoring the terrified undertone they had.

99-Novem couldn’t help the hiss she made through her gritted teeth as he roughly pushed into her. Her free hand gripped the table’s edge and she felt the ankle opposite of the arm in his grip being held tightly. She couldn’t stay quiet as she closed her eyes and let her voice go.

He was rough, that was for sure, for every sensual sound she made, it was followed with a pained whine.

Castus arched over her, his breath burning her when the door opened. He stopped and 99-Novem startled herself with the needy whine that was too late to stop.

“Having a party here, Astarte?” her heart dropped, humiliation and embarrassment inflamed her face. Loud footsteps from well polished shoes stopped in front of her face and she opened her eyes.

Inquisitor Brosidus.

His mouth twisted into a smug grin. He looked down at her startled face as she panted, taking the moment to get a proper breath of air. She shuddered as she clenched, her legs trying to close but only pressing against the space marine’s sides.

“Go on, don’t stop because of me.” was the only warning she had as Castus gave a particularly hard thrust that forced 99-novem to yelp.

“Awfully noisy, aren’t you?”

Castus gave a noncommital grunt, her voice was a high and breathy groan.

“I don’t like to go unanswered, tech-priest. Look at me.” he spoke, she gritted her teeth, awkwardly twisting herself to the best of her ability. It was odder still to look up at him considering she wasn’t moving of her own volition.

“Ah- I.. yuh-yessir..?” she gasped, unknowing of how she should answer.

“You’re a slut for that Astarte dick, aren’t you, tech-priest?” the feeling of shame and debasement returned.

“Hh-yeah-” she winced at how high and breathless her voice was “I-I ssspose I a-am-” she had to close her eyes, fingers clawing into the table as she felt herself tensing. Castus stopped.

99-Novem opened her eyes, in the moment her body felt the sting of frustration before it settled to confusion. Castus’s hands were still gripping the metal of her arm and leg while the Inquisitor had pulled down his pants, holding himself in front of her.

“Do I have to tell you what to do, are you that stupid?”

He must get off on her humiliation. Even then her mind was growing muddled with each sharp buck of Castus’s hips.

“I’m mmmh- stupi-id, sss-sir.” her voice slurred. Castus had let go of her arm and was digging his hand painfully into her hip with the promise leaving bruises. She caught a glimpse of a broad grin upon Brosidus’s face before he pressed his member into her face.

“Then shut yourself up and stop your grovelling.” he snickered. 99-Novem found her hands holding tightly to the edge of the table, bitterness in her as she opened her mouth. Unprepared, she gagged as Castus pushed her forward. She twitched as she tried breathing through her nose. It was difficult, trying to focus on the Inquisitor in front of her while Castus pounded into her from behind.

Difficult to the point of tears pinching her eyes as she could do little besides let her mouth stay open while Brosidus thrusted in.

Each time she choked out a sound, she heard him moan or grunt. Castus let go of her ankle, holding into her hips with such a tight grip, she feared him breaking something.

The nerves within her felt heavy as she closed her eyes, it became a dangerous chore to not close her mouth on the intrusion as her cry turned to a choked, sputtered mess. She was truly choking then as Brosidus held the back of her head, pushing himself to her throat as he came.

“Better keep it in, I’m sure Castus can keep this up all night if you don’t.” his smug voice growled, he was breathless himself.

99-Novem was already sensitive and it was beginning to hurt as Castus kept his unrelenting pace. Begrudgingly, she swallowed, feeling disturbed at the off taste that was the Inquisitor in her mouth. As soon as he pulled away, she snapped her mouth closed, breathing heavily through her nose.

When she opened her eyes marginally, she saw Brosidus was pulling his pants back up.

“Do what you want, I have business to do.” he waved his hand, after finishing on buckling his belt, and was already walking away. 99-Novem’s heart dropped at the dismissal, worrying on what it meant in between shaking from her nerves that grew more overstimulated by the moment.

She didn’t have to worry long as she felt the weight of the Astarte on her back, his mouth on the flesh of her shoulder as he bit down. Crying out in surprise and pain, it distracted her from the oozing feeling of him finishing within her.

His breath was blazing against her skin, and she twitched when he pulled out of her. 99-Novem just wanted some sleep now, she felt tired and worn out from what had happened.

“Get dressed.”

Of course, she never got what she wished as she pulled herself off the table, wincing at the soreness soon to come. Neither did she like the idea of her underwear getting wet.

“Yes sir..” her hands fumbled despite being mechanical. Wonders of the mind she supposed.

She shuffled her feet back to the work bench. A wholly anticlimactic ending to the day as Castus left. At least _he_ wasn’t the one that was going to feel sore and hurting. She’d have to find something to soothe her throat later, for Brosidus wasn’t as gentle as he seemed to be sometimes.


End file.
